Ghost
by Remington Rand
Summary: Derek has a stalker who escalates from pranks to murder...and his identity remains concealed. He's forced to plead for help from Alan, a snarky computer genius-slash-drug addict who also happens to supposedly loathe him. Casey's stubborn nature leads to her helping Derek, whether he likes it or not, and they find themselves growing closer as their nightmare worsens.
1. Chapter 1

It started with phone calls.

He'd been lying on his bed, hockey practice canceled. The middle and elementary schools hadn't even dismissed their pupils yet, and Casey was still at school, studying or practicing for a play or something. Derek didn't really know, and he didn't really care, because he had the house and a new carton of chocolate fudge ice cream all to himself.

In the middle of a startlingly large bite, the phone rang. "Hewwo?" he mumbled, chewing over the cold concoction.

There was a strange sound on the end; a garbled hiss, or growl maybe. It lasted for a few seconds, and then the phone clicked, signaling the end of the call. He hung up the phone, shrugging, and began devouring his ice cream again.

When the phone rang again, he was tossing the carton back into the freezer and throwing the spoon in his sink. Wiping his hands on a towel, he stained the garment with sticky chocolate remnants, a thing Casey was sure to screech about if he left it in a place she could see; he smirked at the thought. He picked up the phone.

"Yeah?" he offered in place of a greeting. The strange garbled hiss-slash-growl intruded his ears yet again. Derek rolled his eyes.

"Okay, dude, if this is your idea of a prank call—news flash: it's really lame."

A loud whine came in response to that, making his ears ache; "Jesus Christ!" he snarled, pulling the phone from his ear. A few moments later, he cautiously put his ear against the phone again. It was silent.

Rubbing his aching ear with his hand, he headed to the couch to veg in front of the TV until the family got home.

The phone rang again; right as Scooby was running from a zombie. Derek ignored it, and let it go to the machine; he wasn't stupid enough to answer the damn phone a third time.

The hissing and snarling echoed on the machine, eliciting an expression of annoyance on his face.

_Would this guy give up already?_ He thought. The phone call ended with the same piercing whine as before.

He went over to delete the message; no need for the rest of the family to know he was being pranked. Casey would undoubtedly find delight in that, and Edwin would be crestfallen to see his idol rendered useless. Over a _phone call_, no less.

Just as the machine beeped, deleting the message, Casey bustled through the door, Edwin and Lizzie following behind her. She tripped over a flower pot and ended up sprawling at his feet.

"Klutzilla, I knew you'd be falling for me at some point, but you didn't have to do it _literally _to get my attention." He said cheerfully, patting her on the head as she scrambled back up ungracefully.

Instead of firing back with an equaling demeaning retort, she growled at him and stomped up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door behind.

Derek looked at Edwin. "Was it something I said?" he asked innocently.

"Casey got into a fight with Max," Lizzie explained, snatching the remote from his hand and flipping to a documentary on lions.

"_Really?"_ Derek asked, his attention and curiosity fully piqued. Lizzie ignored his response and Edwin went into the kitchen. Now that the two younger siblings' attention was diverted, he could easily go upstairs and…

"_De-rek!" _Casey snarled, "I can't pay for Max's jacket! You ruined it!"

"Why?" Derek asked, taking the steps in fluid grace, "Because it says '_Verturi's number one'_ in place of _'Miller'?"_

He was close to her now, able to smell her shampoo and close enough to brush his hand against her shoulder without it seeming odd. Casey was oblivious to this, as was her not-so-brotherly counterpart.

"_Yes!"_

"But Casey, I thought you _liked _honesty!"

"Derek…" Casey said softly, her voice much lower than the octave she had it at previously, "He already hates me, okay? Please don't make it worse."

_Max couldn't hate Casey but he doesn't offer to challenge this notion._

Tears began filling her eyes. "Just go, Derek." She said, and shut the door in his face, the soft _click _reminding him of how much she shut him out; especially when it came to _Max_.

They'd be back together by tomorrow. Derek knew this. Casey couldn't stay mad at him for long (he was the _quarterback_, after all) and Max…well, Max was just stuck with her, because his and Casey's names ran together permanently like the two were married: Max-and-Casey; Casey-and-Max; Max-'n-Casey—and so forth and so on. There was no escaping the Commitment of Casey.

Perhaps that wasn't fair. Derek knew that if Max could break up with Casey for a rational and legitimate reason, he would. Even their names—as run-together as they were—didn't ring right.

_Not like Derek-and-Casey, Casey-and-Derek. She couldn't say Max like she said Derek's name, split into two pieces, De-_rek_, a hard 'r'; he loved the way her lips, her tongue, wrapped around his name, the way her voice distorted just for him and him only. _

Still, the unsettling knowledge that Casey would be mooching with the oversized piece of orange cardboard by tomorrow morning settled in his stomach heavily.

"Must be hungry," Derek mumbled to himself, denial promptly smacking him in the face, and he left the hallway with Casey's sobs ringing in his ears.

_If he is sorry he does not acknowledge it._

Those sobs ended at some point, because a blotchy-eyed and exhausted looking Casey exited her room and ran a bath just as he was heading down to dinner.

"Hey," he said, poking his head into the bathroom, staring at the robed brunette, "Dinner's ready."

"I'll eat later." Casey told him tonelessly. She didn't argue. She didn't insult him. All she did was close the door in his face, just as softly as she had before.

Derek ignored this—he'd had all the Casey Drama he could handle for the day, and Tofu wasn't on the menu, hamburgers were—and began his descent to the dinner table.

_He is not sorry, really._

"Where's Casey?" Nora asked, looking surprised.

"Max," Edwin, Lizzie, and Derek said in unison; each rolled their eyes and began fixing their hamburgers.

"Well, shouldn't one of you be comforting her?"

"Dad, if she wants to be left alone, let her be alone. No skin off my nose." Derek muttered.

_None at all._

"Yeah! Besides, when has Casey ever appreciated _our _comfort when she didn't want it?"

George had no comment to this, and Nora merely sighed, not wanting to push the subject further.

"Marti," said the woman, "How was your day?"

The eight-year-old's babbling quickly filled up the awkward silence. "We made ponies and Zach dared me to eat a crayon and Geena started a fire again and I told Mrs. Zurich so I got _two _blue stars today—"

"That little girl started _another _fire?" Nora asked, alarmed.

"Yeah; Geena's daddy's a boy scout troop leader an' he teaches Geena all kinds of stuff. Geena used a magneedying glass!"

"You mean magnifying, Smarti," Derek corrected absent mindedly.

"Derek, can _you _teach me boy scout stuff? Please?"

Derek's grin grew. "Why, of _course. _Smarti." George glared at him.

"No _illegal _stuff, of course." Derek added with a mock expression of seriousness.

George shook his head. "We should have traded you in for a girl."

"Love you too, _Dad_."

The dinner had concluded with stories of Edwin's gym socks, Lizzie's conservation efforts, and the recent grade report George had received in regards of his oldest son.

"Try harder, Derek," his father warned. Derek simply said the right things and easily slipped away into his room.

The phone hadn't rung all night, and the earlier incident with the prank calls had almost been forgotten.

Safely in his room, surfing on YouTube and downloading new music, Derek was feeling pretty calm.

Calm and relaxed enough to even be nice to Casey if she came into his room.

His cell phone vibrated, and Sam's caller ID popped up.

"Sammy!" Derek said in greeting.

Hisses and growls answered him—a new animal-like cry penetrated the mix of sounds, a loud cat-like yowl—and the screeching pitch began, causing him to drop the phone.

"_Fuck!"_

Derek sighed, tossing the phone on his bed. At least he knew who the "prankster" was. Derek returned to his web surfing, muttering obscenities to himself.

The house phone rang five seconds later; he let someone else pick it up.

"_Derek! It's Sammy!" _Marti screeched—damn, that kid had a set of lungs.

He found his handheld buried beneath a pile of clothes and answered it. "Sam, I'd thought being my friend would have taught you how to prank awesomely. Sadly, I was mistaken."

Sam ignored the poor grammar, remembering his friend's current grade in English. "I didn't prank you."

"Yes you did, Sam. Did you forget cell phones have Caller ID?"

"I never called you on my cell, man. I haven't had my cell since it got stolen at the senior bash two weeks ago. Remember?"

"…Right. Sam. I gotta go, Spacey's freaking over the phone." He lied.

"But—"

"Bye," Derek interjected, ending the call.

He retrieved his cell, lying on his stomach as he searched his outcoming calls, finding the name 'Sam' and yes, the correct cell number for his friend. Frowning, he hit 'send' and waited.

There wasn't even a ring. It just stay silent, eating away at his minutes like some sort of freaky parasite. Derek closed the phone, eying it with distrust and suspicion.

In that second, Casey entered his room with a victorious smile. "Hand it over," she said, tapping her foot.

"Hand what over?" he asked.

"The two-sixty that'll pay for Max's new jacket."

"I am _not _paying two hundred and sixty bucks to your wimpy boyfriend!"

"Yes you are! _Mom!"_

"_Dad!" _Derek screamed, overbearing Casey's yell for reinforcements. The two teens both battled down the stairs with shoves and hair pulls.

_He doubted Casey ever dared to pull Max back by his shirt and sweep the palm of her hand over his bare abdomen in the process._

The brawl Casey had started eradicated any apprehension about that phone call.

Sometimes he really couldn't imagine life without her.

o-o-o-o

The next morning, Derek awoke and squinted at his bedside table, groaning at the time. Planning to simply hit the snooze button, he found a faint blue light emanating from his phone catching his eye. He had made certain to put it on silent before finally falling asleep at two am.

With his curiosity piqued, he picked it up and entered in his PIN.

The screen flashed with his wallpaper (of the Leafs' logo) and his icons (which loaded apps designed to keep him away from completing things like homework)

Eighteen missed calls, no voicemail. One text message. All from various different numbers he didn't recognize, five that were at least non-local.

He maneuvered over to the text message, which contained the two words: GrimmSin. It was underlined and in blue, indicating it was a link to something.

Opening the link, regardless of his impulse to, was out of the question. This had to be a joke. It was completely nonsensical and obviously meant to simply be an annoyance.

He'd just get his number changed, that would sort things…

The phone lit up again, showing that someone was calling him. Derek's lips set into a hard line, his annoyance having grown into anger, and shoved it in his bag, where he wouldn't have to look at it.

He left his room after quickly dressing with snarl on his face that wouldn't fully dissipate for the rest of the day.

Upon glancing up to his stormy entrance, his family assumed it was because he'd lost the battle to Casey the night before.

His dad entered the kitchen first. "Dad, call the cell phone company and make them give me a new cell phone number."

"Why?" George asked suspiciously.

"Yeah, why?" Casey asked with a smirk, clearly about to make a retort until George cut her off.

"Casey." He said warningly, then returned his focus on his son, "Why, Derek?"

"Just getting a lot of wrong numbers," he lied, and dropped the subject.

"Okay. I'll try to call them today."

The rest of the morning only got worse. He had to drive Casey to school, who took the opportunity to be even more grating than usual.

As the trees and buildings went by, his eyes wandering over to her form during every stoplight, she busied herself by retorting his phone issues would be solved if he stopped leading girls on.

With his figurative rolodex of girls, he found himself growing discontent and bored easily, moving on to another quickly. None ever reached anything close to being a girlfriend, and he knew why.

She was sitting right next to him in the passenger seat as she continued their banter, blue eyes lit up with fire, her face slightly flushed and her lips far too enticing to him.

He hated her reminding him that she'd never see him the way he did. Predictably he responded back by commenting on her choice in boys (using adjectives to describe Max to make the fire in her eyes smolder more). On her ridiculous dreamy idea of a relationship that always seemed to entail her changing to meet his expectations and her trying force things Just Right.

A brief burst of frustration ran through him as he pulled into a parking space, the car jolting forward roughly as he parked.

Casey stretched out his name in that way he loved, and he hid his smile with a smirk.

She rolled her eyes and left the car, presumably to meet Max like usual. Their routines were nauseating, all to maintain her silly idea of a perfect relationship, a perfect love.

He watched her walk across the lot until she disappeared behind the main school doors, the smirk fading quickly from his lips.

Derek thought she only worked so hard at maintaining some ideal because she could so easily tell herself it was what she wanted, she could tell everyone else (mostly him) that they were wrong and she was right.

Even when it was obvious that it wasn't.

He followed Casey's direction into the school building looming above her, and instantly regretted it after finding her being all cutesy-wootsy with her orange cardboard cutout.

_She might not be afraid to push and pull and touch him under the guise of accidence but she's afraid to lean into him like she does with Max and that bothers him more than he cares to admit._

He began stuffing things into his locker with a dark look, forcing himself to avoid looking at Casey again. He caught her smile as she leaned in close into him. His eyes tore away from the sight and he stared at his history textbook with murderous rage.

This was the state his friends found him in, moments later.

"So, if it's not drugs, is it a _girl?_" Sam asked.

"_No."_ Derek forced between gritted teeth.

"Dude, is it…y'know…a _dude?_" Ralph asked with widened eyes.

"You've discovered us. Oh no." Derek said flatly. "Come, honeybuns, we'll be late for class." He said, elbowing Sam.

"Oh my God!" Ralph sputtered.

"Ralph—" Sam began. Derek didn't stick around to hear the rest because he was already in Civics, which, thankfully, neither Sam or Ralph had.

Casey, however, was. And when she saw him, a satisfied smile grew across her features.

"Y'know, _smug _isn't really your color." Derek snarked.

"Neither is _ass_ for you, but that never stops _you_." Casey replied sweetly.

"So when I'm not being an ass, you want to jump me, right?" Derek asked, wiggling his brows.

"If that implies a stabbing motion with a sharp object and me taking your money, then yes."

"Casey!" The teacher sniped. "Can we begin?"

"Yes, ma'am." Casey mumbled, pointedly ignoring Derek's wide smile.

Hockey practice was a disaster. He kept checking the wrong people, missing easy shots, and just all around _sucking_.

His coach had already tried to give him a pep talk twice—a pep talk full of obscenities and threats on his life, but a pep talk nonetheless—and it had done no good.

"Venturi! You're out. Hit the showers." Derek tossed his stick down in frustration and stormed off to take a lukewarm shower.

Alone in the locker room, he was still seething; he ran his fingers through his wet hair, tossed off his equipment with violence, and left a dent in someone's locker with his fist.

And it was all because of those _stupid _phone calls.

"I don't get pranked," he growled under his breath, throwing on his street clothes rapidly.

The bag was packed with equal disaster and anger, and he set off—without even talking to his coach—with a loud bang.

o-o-o

_A/N: There is also a vid promo for this on my Youtube channel (link in profile)!_

_Inspired by the film "Untraceable" and "Stalking Casey" by stephluvvsyou (fic) and the vid by xscarss._

_This will contain some gore (though I tried to tone much of it down) and some (brief) sexual content, hence the rating._

_This was uploaded on my old account, though I expect to be making some major changes to the ending (last 5 chapters or so). I may upload the previous version as an alternate ending but I haven't decided._


	2. Chapter 2

His mood continued well into the rest of the evening. Nobody dared to ask him what was wrong, not after Edwin had the misfortune of happening to be in front of the TV when he got home.

The usual suspects spoke at dinner about the usual things—Casey about her play, Marti about some various mishap, and so on and so forth. Derek offered no part in any of the conversations, and not even Marti attempted to draw him out of his silent rage. His dining utensils screeched against the plate as he ate in a violent manner (which drew a disgusted sneer out of Casey, but she kept her mouth shut).

His footsteps thumped and echoed in the house; the sound of his door slamming doing the same.

The rest of his night had been spent wandering aimlessly on the internet. He only half-paid attention to what he was doing; his eyes flickered to his phone every few seconds.

By ten thirty, there had been no contact with the alleged "prankster", and he collapsed on his bed, drifting off the sleep quickly. He didn't wake up until his alarm went off.

Breakfast went much smoother than the morning before. While a little voice in the back of his head nagged at him, curious as to why he hadn't been bothered by another odd message or call, all, he ignored it and had the feeling that today was going to be a very good day.

Casey's usual retorts didn't provoke much of a heated response out of him, and he smirked at her bewildered expression.

"Oh, Derek," George said, seconds before rushing out the door, "I called the cell phone company for you. Remind me to give you your new number tonight, okay?"

Derek responded with genuine thanks.

Casey looked at him, eyes narrowing into suspicious slits.

"What's up with you?"

"Nothing. Are you riding with me or not?"

Not even Casey and her creamsicle moron of a boyfriend could shake his good mood—even if she did fawn over him and go all girly and air-headed on him like she always did.

All of that, however, had quickly shattered by third period. While the teacher droned on about a Gerund Phrase (whatever that was) his phone vibrated with a text message notification. His heart sank.

The text was brief, clichéd, and annoying.

**I will show you how far the rabbit hole goes.**

It was in that moment that Derek decided he needed help. And he couldn't turn to Sam or Ralph about this—they'd laugh and be absolutely useless. No, Derek Venturi needed a special breed to help him with this—a smarter breed.

That breed was defined as Nerd, pure and simple. Worse than Casey, but smarter than her, too. He didn't need any run-of-the-mill asthmatic geek, either. No, he needed the smartest, the ringleader. The invisible—but still widely known—Alan Wright.

This might be a problem. Not only was he _Derek Venturi_, and it would be social suicide to seek help with someone as invisible and obviously uncool as Alan, Derek would also have to figure out how to get him to help the most popular guy in school.

Alan wouldn't fall all over him like some geeks would. He would treat him with icy contempt, much like Casey did.

The bell rang, and fourth period was beginning. Derek needed to find the socially awkward enigma—and fast. His guess was that Alan would probably be in the computer lab during lunch. He'd just tell Sam and Ralph he got lunch detention or something.

With people either distracted by going to class or going to lunch, it was going to be relatively easy to slip into the technology hallway. His sneakers squeaked as he walked down the narrow and silent hallway.

Computers hummed as he entered. The warm air brushed past his face. In the back of the room, hunched in the corner, was Alan Wright.

From his position, Derek guessed he didn't want to be found—which implied he was doing something he shouldn't be, like hacking into the school's sprinkler system or whatever it is he spent his time doing.

He walked toward the hunched figure, and Alan's eyes flickered to his at the sound.

His lips curved into a wry smile. "Oh, it's my _very _favorite person! What's the matter, Venturi—get lost on your way to the janitor's closet?"

Jeez, he really _was _a male Casey.

Derek took a seat next to him. "Cut the crap, Alan. I need your—"

"I don't play well with others," interjected the blonde, sneering slightly. The boy's blue eyes flickered back down to his desk as though he didn't care what he needed.

"—help." Derek finished flatly, sighing.

"Look, Alan, I know you think I have issues with people like you, but I don't. I could care less who you date or who you have sex with."

"Wow, the amazing Venturi doesn't care. Should I be falling all over myself now with relief? I've heard you're scrappy," Alan shot back, his eyes not leaving the keyboard, though his hands hadn't moved since Derek entered.

Derek knew the words behind that statement. _You never stopped the harassment, and you very well could have._

"I'm sorry about what happened last year, okay? And I'm sorry those assholes didn't get kicked off the team or expelled."

Derek tried to appeal to his ego instead. "I wouldn't be going to you if anyone else could be doing the job I'm asking of you."

It worked. "Okay," he said, "What do you need me to do?"

The brunette pulled out his cell phone, showing him the text message. "I need you to find out who sent this."

Alan's brow lifted lazily. "Amateur stuff. Let me load the text onto my computer and I'll see what I can do." He fished out a long black cord, plugged it into his laptop, and extracted the message from his cell.

The phone was plopped back into his hand. "When do you think you'll have some info?"

Alan smirked. "Meet me after school, at the dot-com café. Five. Don't be late, hockey boy, I got stuff to do."

Derek nodded. "I'll see you then." He got up, stopping at the door.

"Hey, Alan?" The dark-haired boy looked at him with disinterest. "Thanks."

"Tell anyone about this and your computer will not survive the week."

Derek snorted. "The feeling's mutual, Wright."

The rest of the day was uneventful—not even his phone went off. Hockey practice went well, and his coach was relieved to see his star player back on track.

He was the first one out of the locker room.

Casey met up with him, wrinkling her nose at the smell of his bag. Derek looked at her, shadows of annoyance forming across his face.

"_What _are you doing here, Spacey?"

"I need a ride home."

_Dammit. _That would mean he'd have to figure out some other way to meet Alan. Derek sighed heavily, grumbling about how she should get her own damn car.

"Sorry to interfere with your oh-so-pressing social life," Casey sniped.

She bitched and moaned the _whole _way home. About her mannequin boyfriend, about the smell in the car, and about the fact that the radio was broken.

"Casey, we're home. Get out." Derek commanded. Her jaw dropped.

"Excuse me? Who died and made you boss? And where exactly do you think you're going?"

Derek rolled his eyes. "Away from your whining ass. Go call Mr. Creamsicle and bitch to him. Last time I checked, I wasn't your boyfriend, or even your friend."

Casey's eyes flashed. She took off her seatbelt and exited the car, giving him a classic heated Casey expression. "You are an ass, Derek. I don't know what any girl sees in you—"

"Except an amazing body and lips that would make _you _scream my name, Space Case." Derek said in a bored tone.

_He is getting sloppier with his rapport lately, he notes._

Casey blushed at his comment. "De-_rek!" _she exclaims, slamming the door.

_Finally._

He notes that she doesn't deny his comment, shooting him a glare before she enters the house, and Derek smirked.

He squealed out of the driveway, turning on the radio as he turned left. Casey hadn't checked the volume when she turned it on, and he didn't volunteer this information.

When he got to the café, it was four-forty five, and Alan was already there, sipping an iced tea as he shifted through a folder of papers and tapped a key on his laptop. Spying Derek through the sparse crowd, Alan regarded him with a cool gaze and a bored tone.

If Derek wasn't so dense, Alan thought lightly, he would be able to see through his whole 'bored' and 'disinterested' façade. The truth was, he was very interested. However, crushing on a very straight, very popular hockey player—no matter how attractive that smirk was—was an extremely stupid idea.

So he played up the hatred, there was a fine line between hate and desire anyway.

He thought someone needed to inform Casey McDonald of this because she did a poor job of not making it seem like she wanted Derek.

There was, however, a collection of whispers he well-guarded from her that avidly painted pictures about them since the time the two joined forces to get him elected (pictures she would blush about). It was really only a matter of time before it all began to surface.

Derek slid into the booth parallel from him.

"Cell phone." Alan commanded, and Derek gave him the cell phone. His fingers brushed against the hockey player's hand lightly when he grabbed it—Derek didn't even notice—and his stomach flipped.

"Okay," Alan said, his voice momentarily shaking before he forced an ornery expression across his face, "The thing with text messages is that the font cannot be changed—it's universal, mostly."

Derek looked at him blankly. Alan continued.

"However, the message you got employs an unusual font. Probably for cliché emphasis. The only way this could happen is if this was emailed to you."

"But it showed up as a text message." Derek argued, clearly confused.

"Whoever sent this to you didn't want you to know that he was using a computer. Now, the way he made it appear as a message from a phone as opposed to a computer—it implies that he's not going to be easy to find."

"Can't you track him through the email?"

"In theory."

"So what's the problem?"

"He's using a public email server to send these messages, which would typically be easy for me to track."

"I'm sensing a big 'but' here."

"When I tried to find his IP address, it wiped my computer. He knew I was looking for him. Whoever this is has an extensive knowledge of computer viruses and how to write them."

"So basically, you can't find him?"

"I can tell you this guy, he's not at Thompson. The kind of level he's at—the sophistication of his viruses, they're well beyond _any _student at Thompson."

Derek sighed. _"Great."_

Alan shrugged. "He'll get bored with you, Venturi. You're not _that _great."

_You are such a _liar, _you worm. _Alan thought to himself.

"Gee, thanks." Derek muttered sarcastically. "Thanks for the help anyway."

"Later." Alan called out weakly as he exited the shop. Derek gave him a salute with a smirk before starting his car and leaving.

_That _fucking _smirk…_ Alan thought miserably. His muscles had turned to absolute mush. Well, all except _one…_

He was jolted out of his woes by a pop-up on his computer. "GrimmSin" was the website's title.

**I know what you're doing, you little faggot. Did you **_**really **_**think I'd let you find my email address by mistake? You don't want to know how far the rabbit hole goes. Keep helping Venturi and you lose.**

Alan frowned. How mature. He rolled his eyes. This little stalker of Venturi's thought he was hot shit.

"Time for a reality check," he murmured, snagging the website address before his computer crashed for a second time.

Derek would be pleased about this new discovery. Maybe he'd even show some concern for the sarcastic geek.

Alan's stomach flipped.

Oh, he had it for Venturi. _Bad._


	3. Chapter 3

START SEARCH:

'_Search: ALAN WRIGHT_

_searching…_

_ALAN CHRIS WRIGHT_

_ALAN CHRISTOPHER WRIGHT_

_ALAN CHRYSTIPHER WRIGHT_

_ALAN DAVID WRIGHT_

_ALAN DEVON WRIGHT_

_ALAN DEVONNE WRIGHT_

_ALAN DEVIN WRIGHT_

_page __**7**__…_

_(displaying page 7 of 152,000)_

NEW SEARCH:

'_Search: ALAN WRIGHT_

_Location search: Toronto, Ontario, Canada_

_Five mile radius of Postal Code: M4B 1V4'_

_ALAN JASON WRIGHT_

_Page 1_

…_the Thompson High student, __**Alan Wright**_, _was brought to the ER tonight after sustaining wounds apparently caused by…__**Wright **__is the student involved in the controversial David Green Case… link_

_AP-Toronto 3/19/06 1:23 AM_

_A Thompson High School student who was involved in the controversy with teacher David Green was brought into the ER late Saturday night after suffering wounds to his face, ribs, and lower extremities. He is currently in critical condition._

_Updated: 3/21/06 12:34 PM_

_The Thompson High student, now known as Alan Wright, has allegedly been the victim of a hate crime due to his involvement with popular Civics teacher David Green. Wright, a seventeen-year-old junior, had allegedly began a romantic affair with the married teacher; when the student ended the relationship, Mr. Green allegedly bound and kept the youth hidden in his cellar until later that night, where he was then set free. David Green is currently at trial for kidnapping, sexual assault, and possession of child pornography._

_Wright's injuries are rumored to be caused by barbells stolen from the school's gym, and an investigation is currently underway._

_Related articles:_

_TWO SENIOR HOCKEY PLAYERS CHARGED FOR HATE CRIME ON ALAN WRIGHT link_

_HOCKEY PLAYERS GET MAXIMUM PENALTY DESPITE PARENTS', PEERS' PLEAS link_

A dark haired boy with ice-blue eyes felt his face twist into a sneer. So this was Alan Wright. He had no interest in dealing with him; he would have to spook him and get him off Venturi's case fast.

He figured he should catch the kid up with how his former flame fared. The images had been leaked a while back; he had saved them before they were taken down.

He settled into his chair, feeling his lips twitch into a smile as he began to prepare his…presentation on Green. It would be executed the next time Alan happened to start a program on his computer.

o-o-o

He had nothing. Not even a name. Alan was tired, having run out of energy drinks hours prior. His eyes burned, his back ached, and his _stupid _computer had crashed so many times, he was thankful he kept all of his data on an external hard drive, locked in the bottom of his closet.

Alan took a breath, winced as he felt the familiar ache in his side; his ribs and hips hadn't healed properly, and arthritis regularly set in on nights like this. He made a mental note to take some Advil after he was done.

Pulling up the GrimmSin website once again, he began his work. But, _again, _before his computer could even pull up the second page containing the information he needed, it emitted a short screech and fell silent. His computer was officially in heaven.

With a grimace, he shoved two turquoise pills in his mouth, chased them down with a shot of Smirnoff's, and pulled out his laptop. He had an English Lit assignment due the next day, anyway, he might as well take a break.

Question one: _What meaning was Chaucer attempting to convey in this story?_

Easy enough. He began to type:

_Chaucer's intention was to conveVENTURI IS NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS I KNOW ALL ABOUT YOU ALAN WRIGHT YOU DON'T WANT TO SEE HOW FAR THE RABBIT THE RABBIT HOLE GOES_

Alan looked at the screen, at first frowning, because he had been on a roll with that question, and then he sighed. Pressing backspace, he began his question once again.

_Chaucer's main concern was to shed light upon the societal differences between men anTALKED TO YOUR OLD FUCK BUDDY YET? I HAVE- WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE HOW HE FARED IN PRISON?_

His computer went black, and it whirred, sounding as if it were in pain, being forced to do something it didn't want to; the screen lit up again, and his breath caught in his throat.

The handsome, smiling David Green was looking back at him, just as beautiful as he had been a year and a half ago. Blonde hair, hazel eyes, an easy smile and a body to _die _for hidden under simple t-shirts and loose jeans. The teacher had been twenty eight then, just married with a child on the way. Alan hated himself for that, for stealing a father away from his child, and then sending him to prison.

What he hated most, though, was that Green could still make his breath catch, set his heart racing, and make his palms sweat as if what he had done to him had been nothing. A familiar lump appeared in his throat. Green had been his first—first real kiss, first real sexual encounter, first real love—and firsts were never forgotten, no matter how much he wanted to.

His nails dug into his palms—the pain raced through his skin and stabbed at the growing pain caused by his arthritis. Remembering this was not on the agenda for tonight. Not tonight. He had spent too much time reminiscing and brooding over it—and then spent too much money on drugs to forget.

HERE'S PRETTY BOY NOW

His computer pinged, and Alan remembered, what—who, really—was fucking with him. A new image grew onto the computer slowly, like a red wine stain on white.

Images, actually. Flickering, looping, endlessly, making sure he didn't miss one frame.

A sickened whimper escaped his throat. _"Ohh…"_

Gone was the man he had stupidly fallen for; what stared at him was a naked body, bruises forming, cuts still widening, blood still pooling beneath the skin he knew so well.

His skin was a mottled grey color, a sickly pallor. Green's head jutted at an odd angle, his neck showing telltale signs of a break.

The hazel—the warm, lively hazel that made him melt—was gone; what replaced it was a soft grey, rigor having set in a long time prior.

Alan's stomach lurched.

The mouth, withered, flaky and dry, opened, revealing a parched, milky opening. Alan wasn't sure what was missing at first, and had to fight the waves of nausea as he found himself unable to tear away from the screen.

Then it cut out, and a sentence appeared.

THIS IS HOW FAR THE RABBIT HOLE GOES

The machine shut off, and Alan, losing composure, slid to the floor and let himself grieve.

He was done. Really, his heart went out to Venturi. The kid was dealing with a sick fuck.

But a line had been crossed, and boundaries had been emphasized.

Nerds didn't help jocks.

Especially him, the freak who had been seduced and fallen in love with a teacher.

No, not just _a _teacher—the teacher who was next in line for coaching the hockey team full-time, who conveniently knew his game and had been touted as the reason for three victories already.

Did they know they were giving a pedophile his dream job? No, of course not.

Alan had found aliases for David Green. All for different high schools across the country. All had been listed as resigned or been fired for undisclosed reasons.

Sometimes he regretted going to the cops after David let him go. There had been a moment before he left, a moment of mutual pain and understanding.

"_I'm sorry, Alan. I'm so sorry. If I could do everything over again I swear I'd…I love you. I do. If I could…"_

"_I know."_

_Alan knew nothing would be the same again, and the burning on his wrists from the rope reminding him of betrayal, reminding him he still loved him but it wasn't enough, it couldn't be enough._

_And somehow, he just knew he wasn't the only one. _

A gaping, black hole grew in his chest; old scars had been reopened and new pain added to them.

His hand dug under the bed, and found the beat-up box.

He fished out his bottle of benzos; he found himself taking them every day now, two, three times the dose his doctor suggested, but didn't care. His circumstances made drugs easy to get.

When they finally kicked in, his head lolled back, and his breathing slowed. His tears stopped. Vaguely he realized a low moan escaped his throat, one of satisfaction.

When the black hit, taking over his vision and sending his body through an ebony tide of calm, his last conscious movement was a smile.

The next morning he was still tapering off the drugs, so he swallowed some Adderall dry and left as early as he could, finding sanctuary in the computer lab.

He would have to tell Venturi he was done, obviously; but in this state Derek would realize something was off about him.

He logged into his account and made his way to the grading system, changing the boy's current failing grade in Drama (really Derek? _Drama?_ he mused) as a sort of subtle apology that he was taking the easy way out.

Third period, Derek had hunted him down, and Alan was in a _shitty _mood, on his strange little drug-fueled rollercoaster.

He leaned against the door way, hair falling into his eyes, the same smirk on his face. But not even Derek Venturi, the hottest guy in school, could make him weak-kneed today.

"So," he began, plopping (somehow) gracefully into the seat parallel from him, "Did you find anything else out?"

Alan looked at him. The familiar sting of tears began, and he had to turn away. _God, _he was such a pussy. _Really, _Alan! He thought icily, _Get ahold of yourself!_

An awkward moment passed, and he spoke. "Whoever's messing with you isn't some girly freshman. This guy means business. I suggest you start with the cops."

Derek's brows furrowed in confusion. "Did something happen, Wright?"

Glassy blue eyes met his hazel ones, and Alan felt his stomach lurch again. "It doesn't matter, Venturi. I'm done, okay?"

The boy began to stand, picking up his messenger bag. Derek, easily outweighing him by both height and weight, clamped a hand on his shoulder.

"Alan."

He looked up, icily sneering at him. "_Derek._"

"Tell me. What the hell did he do to you?"

In that second, Alan realized two things: in a short span, Derek had grown to depend on him, and that if it had been any other circumstance, Alan would have broken down and told him.

In a strange and fucked up way, both boys trusted each other.

Alan looked at him with a dead gaze. "Just be careful, Derek."

He shoved past the hockey player, slipping out the door.

Derek watched him leave, and wondered with a sinking feeling just what the hell he was dealing with.


	4. Chapter 4

Derek was suspicious. And when Derek was suspicious, he found a way to answer those suspicions. In this case, finding where Alan Wright lived and giving the guy a surprise visit seemed like a good idea. However, finding those living premises would be complicated; after the trial, the Wrights had moved to a discreet location, and had done a damn good job hiding it from the press.

And he couldn't just go around _asking _for the kid's address. Being popular was _hard!_

"You're pouting." Amy pointed out, an inkling of what sounded like amusement in her voice.

"Why are you talking to me?" Derek asked sourly, opening his locker. The picture of Marti had fallen to the floor; he picked it up and pressed it to the door.

"I'm talking to you because you're pouting."

"News flash—we broke up."

Amy raised a brow, a coy smile growing across her face. "Maybe I want to change that."

Derek debated between telling to leave or accepting her proposition. One look at the skirt she was wearing cinched his decision. A smirk grew across his face.

"Seven?"

"Movie at my place?"

Derek's smirk grew more. "Sounds like a date."

Amy winked at him, giving him a peck on his cheek (and pressing her chest against his, making him realize that going on a date with even the most superficial of all girls had its perks).

The day passed by slowly after that encounter though, because without girls to distract him, Alan was on his mind.

He had made an odd exit, and there had been something wrong with his eyes—his whole expression, really—when Derek had visited him that morning.

When lunch rolled around, his friends and even his food didn't interest him as it should have. Amy had to call out his name three times to snap him out of his reverie.

She never said his name the way Casey did, she said it in one syllable, sharp and intrusive. He found it grating, and barely managed to hide his annoyance.

_He wondered when the way Casey said his name became endearing, because he sure as hell didn't think so when he first met her. Did he?_

Even Sam and Ralph gave up having a conversation with him. Because of these reasons, lunch was quiet and intense. The whole _day _was intense.

The only time Derek had a break from his thoughts of Alan, the cell phone, and pranks, was when Casey came home.

_God bless her!_ Derek thought in relief as she drew out his name heatedly.

She was throwing a hissy fit because he'd forgotten to wait for her after school. He responded, with a smirk, that he hadn't forgotten, he'd just had better things to do.

Which was a lie, of course.

"Better things to do, huh? Like _Amy?_" she sauntered up to him, fire in her eyes.

_He doubts she ever walks up to Max looking like that._

With that proclamation, she left Derek downstairs slack jawed…and honestly, a little turned on.

Still, he had other things to do. He didn't have time to analyze how wrong it was to find Casey even the slightest bit attractive.

George got home just as he was leaving. "Where are you going?" George demanded, merely because it was the fatherly thing to do; Derek knew he really didn't care as long the girl wasn't pregnant and he and the car got home in one piece—especially the car.

"Date. See ya."

The date with Amy went as well as expected. They had started making out ten minutes into the film, and progressed from there.

He discovered that Amy _wasn't _a screamer, which was somewhat boring. She squirmed and panted beneath him, but not a sound escaped her lips.

He also discovered that she was a biter; she bit down on his shoulders so hard he was convinced there'd be scars.

Amy was also not a romantic. When they were done she did not insist that they cuddle; she simply redressed herself and stared him in the eyes for a moment after she had done so.

He wondered what she had been searching for, but also couldn't muster up the care to ask.

Derek stared at the screen for a moment, midway into some Lifetime film on mute.

This was awkward. After-sex was always awkward. It was after sex that he discovered how much he really didn't like the girl he'd just been fucking, and it was after sex that he felt ashamed of it.

But not ashamed enough to stop.

Amy looked at her watch, an expensive export from Germany (she'd told him that, after she caught him staring at it) and swore under her breath.

"Hey, you should probably go, my parents will be home soon."

When she walked him to the door, they exchanged stares, both realizing that this probably wasn't happening again.

He leaned in to kiss her, and she kissed him back. He felt nothing. No shivers up his spine, no stomach flips. Nothing.

_Not like Casey._

She looked at him a final time, smiled a sad little smile, because Derek could be sweet when he wanted, but it was obvious they didn't click, even if part of her wanted them to.

"Goodnight, Derek."

He gave her a nod in response as he opened the door, and they parted ways.

The drive home was lonely, as nights like these always had a sense of loneliness to them. He tossed the condom in the neighbor's trash, and parked the car, sighing before heading to the door.

When he entered the house, Casey's humming greeted him.

_"And I love what you do, don't you know you're toxic?"_

Derek held back a laugh. Britney Spears? The ranting feminist listened to _Britney Spears?_

_"It's getting late…"_

She trailed off as Derek's smug smile grew upon his face.

"Little bit of a hypocrite, are we?" he mocked.

"Shut up," she snapped. "Besides, we all know what you use Britney Spears for."

"And what might that be, Princess?"

She turned red. Instead of answering, she screwed the cap onto the peanut butter jar in which she had been dipping her finger in (hardly sanitary, Derek noted) and put it on the shelf.

She walked past him with a pretentious air around her, not even wishing him a good night.


	5. Chapter 5

Derek woke up at two in the morning, hearing the very familiar ring of his cell phone. He groaned, but answered it.

What greeted him was slightly vulgar; the same sounds, but also a new addition. Buzzing. Buzzing, like insects. He felt like a moron, being disturbed by _sounds. _

Sounds anyone could find and record. But he also remembered Alan, the way he'd backed off without so much as a farewell.

Derek knew whoever this was, he wasn't playing a prank. This was real.

o-o-o

Alan felt like a total asshole. That was the perk of drugs; compassion and other annoying emotions didn't exist.

But when the effect wore off, and reality set in, it always seemed worse than before.

Exiting his room, he ran into his mother, who looked exhausted. She looked at him like he was a stranger. Of course, these days, they pretty much were.

While they'd never done the cheery Brady-Bunch togetherness before, after the Green incident both his mother and father regarded him as a permanent guest. A burden.

"Alan," she said, her eyes oddly unfocused. She was on her tranquilizers again. _Like mother, like son,_ he thought wryly.

"I got a call from the school today. Were you sick?" Of course, she knew damn well what was up. She was simply asking him so she could fill her good-parent quota for the day.

"Yeah. I left early."

His mother nodded. "Okay. I'll write you a note." And then she left him there alone in the kitchen.

He had to get out of here. Grabbing his jacket and the keys, he bolted out of the house, planning to return only when his mother was sound asleep. These days she went to bed as early as eight; simply living had taken all the energy out of her.

Alan pulled into the Smellie Nellie's parking lot. He entered, took a booth, and waited for the basic human interaction of the waiter.

"What can I get you?" His green eyes flickered to the boy standing next to him. Ebony-haired, slightly muscular, with light eyes he imagined could pull off a wicked pout, Alan had to admit he was gorgeous.

"Ah…a chocolate malt. Please."

He received the milkshake from the waiter, who regarded Alan nonchalantly. After handing Alan the malt, he headed out the door. Alan eyed his exiting form, and then decided he had a really nice ass.

After that thought, his worst nightmare entered the restaurant. Derek stopped in his tracks when he saw him, and Alan froze, frantically trying to think of a way to leave quickly.

"Alan," Derek began, "Hey. I've been looking everywhere for you."

If he wasn't so freaked, that comment would have made Alan melt. He got up, brushing past him. "Gotta go."

Derek caught his arm, and dragged him outside. "You need to tell me what's going on, man."

"I need to tell you no such thing."

"Alan," His hazel eyes searched his blue ones, and dammit, why did he have to be so fucking gorgeous? "_Please. _There's no one else I can go to."

Alan eyed him for a moment, then sighed. "Fine. But it ain't gonna be pretty. Meet me downtown. The St. Issac flea market. Six."

Alan turned on his heel, heading to his car. Derek watched, and Alan refused to meet his eyes.

**o-o-o**

Derek got to the flea market at five-forty-five. He wasn't risking letting that guy slip away again.

Alan found him at six.

He took his arm and dragged him past the small crowd of tourists, pulling him into a secluded alley.

Derek crossed his arms, clearly waiting for him to speak. Alan took a deep breath, and told him the things he'd never told anyone.

In retrospect, Derek handled the news fairly well. Sure, he looked a little green, but at least he wasn't spazzing out.

"You can see now why I said you had to go to the police," Alan said quietly, after Derek had stayed silent for a good amount of time.

Running his fingers through his hair, Derek sighed. "Yeah. But what are they gonna do? They can't do anything. They _won't _do anything."

Alan shrugged. "We sure as hell can't do much, either,"

"We can do more than they can. Come on, Alan. Don't bail on me now."

And he took one look at those hazel eyes. Alan sighed.

Derek smirked. "Good."

Alan rolled his eyes. "This doesn't mean I think you're a likeable guy or anything."

Derek ignored his comment. "You should come to dinner tonight."

Alan was surprised. "What? Are you delusional?"

"Oh, come on. It's tofu night. The more people who come, the less leftovers we'll have."

"Derek, don't feel you have to be nice to me in order to keep me around. I mean that. It's creepy."

_If creepy meant anything like the stirring in his chest, that was._

Derek leaned against the wall, standing next to him. "You have a tendency to run off. If I invite you over, you can do you magic on my computer and we can maybe track down this guy."

"Nice to know you had an ulterior motive. Besides, if I use your computer, the thing'll crash."

"So, we'll stop at your place and get your laptop."

"Or I can just go home and you can feast on tofu by yourself."

In the end, Derek got his way. Alan promised to meet him at his house, and they parted for the second time that night. To say he was unnerved was an understatement.

Going to Venturi's house was very possibly one of the stupidest things he'd ever done. Stepping into enemy territory wasn't exactly recommended, after all.

Alan could just imagine his family's reaction when he came over. There would be an awkward silence. Oh, what had he gotten himself _into?_

o-o-o

When Derek announced that he had invited someone over for dinner, everyone expected a girl. A bimbo that giggled inappropriately and sneered at the food offered to her.

So when Alan Wright appeared at the door, Casey's expression of shock was expected.

"Come in." Derek called from his seat, and Alan obeyed, plopping down on the couch.

"Derek, can I talk to you? _In private?"_ Casey asked with gritted teeth, dragging him up the stairs and into her room.

"Is this your idea of a joke? _Alan Wright?_" Casey asked, borderline hysterical. "What, are you playing some kind of prank on him? I swear, Derek, if you hurt that kid somehow, you will never, ever have Derek Jr."

Ah. That was Casey. Thinking of others.

Though her worries were warranted, Derek glared at her. Was that what she really thought of him? As someone who would do that?

And then a little voice whispered in his head, _you could have stopped it and you didn't, you didn't, you didn't, because you were too afraid of the consequences. _

He swallowed hard, looking away.

Then flicked his eyes back at her, giving her an answer that didn't ease her concerns in the slightest, giving into the easy way out, thinking of himself. "Never threaten the existence of Derek Jr."

She rolled her eyes, but remained quiet for a moment, gazing at him in _that _way, that soft Casey way that dropped all the pretenses, that made him feel things, that made him think…

Derek snorted, pushing the line of thought away. "Like I'll tell you, Grubby."

He breezed past her, going downstairs to rescue Alan from the stares of his siblings.

While Edwin and Liz appeared warily curious, Marti plopped down next to him, cheerily telling him the story of the time Smerek wore a feather boa and make-up.

Alan looked amused, his eyes regarding him jovially, and Derek scowled in response.

But secretly, he was glad at least one of the members of the household was treating him like a person. Even if Derek was the joke. Alan's face didn't usually contain the warmth he saw.

Meanwhile, Casey sighed, plopping down on her bed with an expression of worry. She let that one thought leak into her head.

_What if Derek had feelings for Alan?_

That was non-Derek-like, and it was highly unlikely, but she couldn't help but wonder…

o-o-o

"Pass the broccoli." Derek said, mouth full. Alan was staring at his plate like it was the most interesting thing he'd seen, well aware of the pairs of eyes on him.

Nora forced a smile on her face. "So…Alan. What are your plans for college?"

Alan looked at her, searching her nervous expression for an inkling of compassion. Casey's expression was of pure pity; at least he had one ally on his side. Well, aside from Marti, who was sitting beside him and glaring at her vegetabes.

"MIT. I'm going into computer science as well as engineering." He lied.

He found it easy to give them something to 'ooh' and 'ahh' over. Took the edge off, distracted them from the elephant in the room.

No one uttered a word of approval, though. Damn, hard crowd. Too busy staring at him.

Except for Casey. She smiled a genuine smile and commented that he was on the right track, and that she wished more of her peers took their futures more seriously. Alan forced a smile and stared at his plate.

_That _riled Derek up, however, jealousy tinging his voice, his eyes narrowed. Neither one of his parents seemed to find it odd.

Well, there was no doubt Derek Venturi found his stepsister attractive, and vice versa. Alan smirked at the thought, but kept the sarcastic remark he felt bubbling up in his throat down.

Neither of them were aware of the attraction, and it made it that much more tantalizing to watch.

Derek muttered, between bites of bread, that Alan was a complete nerd and that he and Casey should get married, they certainly _seemed _compatible.

She sneered at him, telling him that he shouldn't be jealous that she and Alan were smarter than him, it was his own fault he hadn't taken his schooling seriously.

"Because I have a _life_, Grubby." Derek pointed out.

Alan watched this exchange with relief, glad that the focus was on the bantering teenagers rather than him.


	6. Chapter 6

After dinner, up in Derek's room (the looks Nora and George shot him did not go unnoticed by the blonde, who thanked them for the dinner and made a quick retreat) Alan was busy setting up his laptop.

Derek was busy downstairs worming his way out of kitchen duty.

He heard the creak of the floorboards and looked up, seeing Casey in the doorway. She walked in, sitting across from him on Derek's bed.

"Let's get to the point," Casey said, "Seriously, Alan, what's going on here?"

"You'll have to talk to Derek about that, Casey."

Casey frowned, and tried her hand at reverse psychology. "So what, Derek controls who you talk to?"

Alan sighed, setting the laptop next to him. "Casey, you'll have to talk to Derek."

"Fine. But can I ask you _one thing?_"

"Maybe. Shoot."

"Are you two dating?"

Alan laughed, and shook his head. "Yeah, right. You must be blind, Casey."

She opened her mouth, fully intending to ask him what he meant by that, when Derek appeared.

"Yo, Spacey. Out." Casey scowled and tossed Alan a final look before she left. She wasn't giving up.

Derek shut the door.

"Casey's onto you, you know."

Derek's lips set into a firm line. "I'm not getting her involved. I'm not getting _anyone _else involved."

"Mm-hmm." Alan said, a small smirk playing on his lips. Oh, the boy was _whipped._

"Stop looking at me like that," Derek snapped.

Alan redirected his attention to his computer, pulling up the GrimmSin website. "This is what I found. But as I click Enter," he clicked the link, hearing his computer make the familiar whine, "My computer shuts down."

"What's the point of having a website if no one can access it?"

"I think he's going to let us access it eventually. But it's his way of letting us know he has the upper hand."

"So basically, you're at a dead end."

"Yep. We have to wait until he gives us another clue."

"What do buzzing insects imply?" Derek wondered aloud.

"Why? Is that what you heard?"

Derek nodded.

"I'm not sure. Maybe nothing," the boy responded, David's face flashing in his mind again. _Decomposition, _he thought, but chose to keep it to himself.

Still, he thought, the information could be useful. He couldn't do anything about the calls, but monitoring Derek's computer was something he could do. Whether or not it would be detected was the part he needed to figure out, but he'd think of something.

"Meet me after school tomorrow. I'll bring some things by to get things started on backing up the activity on your computer. I'll be able to access it with mine, too."

The brunette appeared somewhat uncomfortable with the idea of being watched.

"I promise I won't check out what porn sites you go on," he clarified dryly, "I doubt any of it would interest me."

"Thanks," came the sarcastic response, "I feel much better."

"Anytime," Alan remarked, shutting the laptop down, "I'm heading out. Can't overstay my welcome and all."

The comment made Derek's eyes shift away guiltily, though he didn't say anything.

"Don't worry about it," the blonde said, "It's not a big deal." He stood up, putting his backpack on one shoulder, "See ya, princess."

He rolled his eyes, giving him a mock salute as a farewell, following him down partway to see him out.

Unbeknownst to him, George was peeking out the kitchen entry for the boy's exit, swooping down at the chance of a lecture before his son could leave.

"Alan Wright?" George said, shaking his head. _"Alan Wright?"_

"It's not a big deal, you know," Derek said defensively, knowing full well it was.

Nora came into the room, her expression of worry complementing George's disappointment. "I don't want him coming over here again," she said, "I've heard of the…history he has."

"That wasn't his fault," he snapped, "he was the one attacked."

His father regarded him with a sigh, "Of course it wasn't, nothing justifies that. I'm guessing he hasn't told you of his record, then."

"What are you talking about?"

"Two years ago he was arrested for blackmailing a man he believed was following his sister. Turns out he had a bank account that his mother regularly put money into because he was the father of his sister. He figured this guy was bad news, he wasn't paying child support and forcing his mother to pay him to keep quiet. He lost everything in a span of a few days. His job, his savings, his house."

"So?" Derek muttered, he would have done the same for Marti.

"His mother was the one paying him because she wanted another child and Alan's father didn't. He wanted a divorce. She had the child in order to keep him around. Both children ended up removed from the home and sent elsewhere."

_It wasn't like he meant to do that. It was a mistake, _Derek thought, but knew arguing was futile.

"Frankly, he got a lighter sentence than the circumstances called for, but the odds were in his favor that day," his father continued, "He ruined a lot of people's lives."

"How do you even know this?" he countered.

"I'm a legal aid lawyer, Derek," his father sighed, "The man had nothing to his name at that point. It was a pro bono case. We managed to recover the money that was actually his and some of his things, but he ended up serving time for credit card fraud and identity theft that was discovered during the investigation."

"Then he got what he deserved," responded the boy, looking more and more defensive by the moment.

"I don't think he was the one who committed it," George said pointedly, "I think he was framed. But I couldn't prove it."

So that was what he was unhappy about. He lost, and Alan got off too easy in his opinion.

"Whatever," Derek muttered, "I'm going to my room now."

He couldn't deny the unease slowly sinking into his thoughts when he began remembering the events of the last few days.

What if it was Alan who was culprit? He was the one who seemed to know everything about what he was dealing with. He never saw the pictures Alan claimed had appeared on his computer.

And worse, it made sense for Alan to target him. He was part of the hockey team, and Alan's opposite in every form.

Derek trudged up the stairs, sighing when he reached his room. Things seemed to only get worse every day.

Having been lost in his thoughts caused some obliviousness toward his surroundings. Right on cue with his last melancholy thought, he saw Casey sitting on his bed again, the same place she had been when Alan was there.

"Casey, just go, I'm not in the mood to deal with your sad attempts at getting information out of me," he said roughly, suddenly aware of the exhaustion he felt at the premise of having to deal with another fight.

"Oh, it's not that," she said, her voice sounding strained, like she was holding back hysterics, "I just got a call from Amy's mother asking me if I knew where she was. She didn't show up for school today and her parents didn't see her last night because they got home late."

Derek paled. He hadn't seen her at school, but it wasn't like he was paying attention.

"Then I checked your phone to see if there were any text messages from her and I found…" her voice trailed off, "And with everything you and Alan were talking about, I just have this feeling, this really, really bad feeling, Derek."

"What's going on?" She asked finally, "Are you in trouble? Did something happen last night?"

"Look, Casey, it'll be fine. She probably skipped class this morning and she'll get back late. Don't worry, all right?"

He really, really hoped that was what it was. Casey watched him for a few moments, seeing the hesitation in his eyes, the tension in his neck, and she knew it wasn't because she had snooped around. He was worried, really worried, about something.

A determined expression grew on her face. "You have to _tell _me what's wrong, Derek. And don't think you can lie."

"I am _not _getting you involved. It's none of your business anyway."

Casey stood up, walking closer to him, so close he could feel her body heat hum against the few inches of distance between them. "I'm not leaving until you tell me, Derek, because if it was me, you wouldn't either," she said softly, something so uncharacteristically Casey.

He knew she was right. No matter the amount of time they spent fighting, the pranks he pulled and the annoying lectures she recited, no matter how much it seemed like he didn't care about her or she didn't care about him, there was enough evidence to the contrary to prove that Casey would fight _for _him when he needed it.

And enough evidence to show he did the same. But they always did it in their roundabout, backhanded way, buried beneath annoyance and sharply-worded comments.

Not like this. Not so honestly. It felt wrong and terrifying and wonderful all at the same time and having her so close was making him think things he shouldn't so he stepped back, pulled away, took the chair in the corner as a shoddy defense against the thoughts in his head and the impulses racing through his body.

She watched him, one hand on her hip, interpreting his move as a lapse into the silent treatment. "I'm not—"

"I know," Derek interjected, rolling his eyes, trying to put the pieces of his pretense back together, "Just sit. I'll tell you."

Casey shut the door quietly, returning to her spot on his bed, head resting on her arms, elbows propped up against her legs, leaning in as far as she could.

"You _have _to promise to keep this a secret."

"I promise," she said, smiling smugly, pleased to have gotten her way.

He told her, in hushed whispers, everything he could, the phone calls, the texts, the website, why Alan was part it all, the messages he had gotten on his computer (he left out the details regarding the images—he didn't think she needed those images in her head).

Derek could see her mulling it all over, trying to figure out how the pieces fit, wanting so desperately to come up with something.

"Casey, you can't let this get to you. You have to stay out of it."

She looked up, a glare fixing on his face, "I can help. I know I can, I might not be like Alan but—"

"I said no," he snapped, hands curling, "Damn it, Case, what part of that don't you understand?"

"Oh please, you think I'm useless because I'm _neurotic, _right?" she snapped, "Because I can't hide my feelings like _you _do all the time?"

He rose to his feet, placing one hand on either side of her shoulder, regarding her with a hard stare, "It isn't about that. You _are _neurotic and blow everything out of proportion, and you get hysterical when you miss one assignment, trust me, I'm not denying any of that, but this isn't about those things."

Her blue eyes met his, a defiant stare clashing with the soft tone of her voice, "What is it about, then?"

Derek dropped his hands from her from, crossing them. "Alan has it handled, you would…look, there's just not much you can do, so just leave it alone, all right? I don't want to deal with your whining in the middle of the night because you start getting weird texts about, I dunno, whatever it is you'd get."

She rolled her eyes. It was a sloppy cover, that much he knew, but judging by the slump of her shoulders, it seemed to do the trick.

"Fine, Derek," Casey muttered, her concern not eased in the slightest. But she went along with the game because _he _started it, "It's probably just someone you pissed off anyway."

Derek shrugged, realizing he'd forgotten to mention Alan's suggestion that it wasn't a student at school. "Well, there's the door, I've had enough interaction with your lameness for one night."

"I've had all I can take with the smell of your socks anyway," she said coolly, brushing past him and leaving without another word.

He sighed, and leaned back on his bed.

Would he regret telling Casey? Would she keep her promise? He wouldn't admit it even under the threat of his most treasured hockey card, but it had felt…nice, to tell to truth, for once.

Or part of it, at least. He _had _left out one thing intentionally: what George had told him about Alan. That issue he would figure out for himself.


	7. Chapter 7

At exactly two in the morning, his phone went off.

This time, he listened to the sounds. He kept his emotions at bay, and listened.

He heard voices. The voices of small children. And behind those voices was the faint sound of circus music.

_Ring around the rosie_

_Pocket full of posies_

_Ashes, ashes,_

_We all fall down_

The voices silenced quickly, and the buzzing of insects, like the call before, erupted.

And the phone clicked.

o-o-o

Casey stared at him with evident worry in his eyes. He ignored her. He knew she was full of questions. He was beginning to regret ever telling her. He should have lied. He should have kept her out of this.

For the first time in his life, Derek got to school early. He'd skipped breakfast, leaving quickly. Casey hadn't even had time to get to the door when the roar of the Prince was heard.

_Sorry, Case, _he thought.

He got to school at exactly 7:06.

Somehow, though, as he got out of the car and approached the building, Emily spied him. With overwhelming speed, she was by his eyes in seconds. For a moment, Derek was afraid Emily was back into her "obsess over Derek" phase—Sheldon _had_ moved, after all, and she was single. Single and prowling.

"What are you doing here so early?" he asked, eyeing her.

"Trying to find you. Casey told me you came to school early." She was out of breath, panting, and she had to stop momentarily.

"Trying to find me?" he echoed, confused.

Emily nodded, her dark curls bouncing with the motion. "Derek, Amy was abducted last night. And everyone's saying you were the last person to see her."

He pressed his lips together, refusing to let the dizziness in his head get to him, realizing what this meant. Realizing he had little to defend himself with, except Casey's word, and he wasn't sure if that was enough.

"All I know is, she's missing. And you're the target." She looked at him in pity. "I mean, I know you wouldn't hurt her, and I'm sure a majority of the student body and staff knows that. People will be here for you. We'll back you up."

"Where's Casey?" he asked suddenly, dismissing her earlier comments quickly.

Emily's expression answered his question.

"_Goddamn it, _Casey," he muttered, and bolted, whipping the doors open with fury. He ignored the secretary's yell: _No running in the halls!_

Paul's door was closed. Relief flooded through him. There sat Casey, frozen with panic as he stared at her.

"What the _hell _do you think you're doing?"

"You need to tell someone! This is getting dangerous!"

"_I _need to tell someone, Case, _not _you! So keep your _fucking _trap out of it!" he snapped, rage flowing through his veins.

Casey looked at him, her face drained of color; the way she held herself made her look small. Derek sighed, taking her arm and pulling her to a corner.

"Casey," he began, trying to think of a way to approach his request calmly, "Please, _please _just go to your classes and do your grade grubbing and obsess over the fact that I didn't give you a ride this morning. Okay?"

Casey's breath hitched. "Okay." She said, so quiet he thought he imagined it. She looked down.

"And Casey…" he trailed off, knowing what he was about to say would make her panicky again, but he had to say it, "Don't go anywhere alone. And make sure you know where the kids are at all times. Can you do that for me?"

She nodded, her eyes still downcast.

He used one index finger to tilt her head up. The contact made him queasy, so he took his finger back quickly.

"Thanks, Case." He said distractedly, and stepped away from his previous closeness to her.

"What's your first class?"

"You have first period with me, Derek."

"Right."

They walked to the classroom in silence, and he made sure the teacher was in the room before he tilted his head at her—a subtle farewell—and exited the room, going in search of Alan before it started.

He found him in the library, a change to his usually hiding place.

"Dude," he said, clamping one hand on the boy's shoulder, "We need to talk."

"I'll say." Alan noted wryly.

They exited the building, huddling in the shed that was both a storage place for tools and a place the potheads went to get high.

"So, Little Miss Blondie went missing and everyone's overlooking the possibility that she's just off skipping a few days."

"Alan," Derek said tiredly, "Not helpful. I'm in a lot of shit here."

The boy shot him an impatient look. "I saw you and Casey. Thought you weren't going to get her involved." Alan muttered bemusedly.

Derek shot him a look of warning, his patience having run out.

"Okay, okay. I've brought the stuff I need, we can set it up today and we'll go from there," responded the blonde, "Anything else?"

His hazel eyes regarded his own with dark trepidation and then, "Why didn't you tell me about what happened two years ago? With your sister? Framing that guy—"

Alan glared at him, "That was never proved, and how do you even know about it? Those records are sealed."

"I'll tell you when you tell me the truth," he responded in kind, "_You _said this wasn't someone at Thompson. And maybe it isn't, but if you're the kind of guy that can frame someone like that and get away with it, don't you think it's a little suspicious?"

The look of shock on Alan's face morphed into one of defensiveness, "If you're accusing me of something, just say it," he spat out.

The brunette rose his hands, curling his fingers into fists and pressing his lips in agitation, "Do you even understand how much trouble I'm in right now? Do you? Because if you did, you'd just tell me the truth, wouldn't you? So what, is this some kind of game? Did Amy get involved somehow—"

He felt Alan shove him back roughly, ice in his eyes, his voice hard, "If I wanted to ruin your life, I wouldn't have waited until now, and I sure as hell wouldn't have to have someone like Amy Park help me do it. See you around, Derek."

With that heated proclamation, Alan exited the shed, leaving Derek alone. He sighed, leaning back against the wall of the shed, rubbing his face roughly, wondering how much he'd fucked up.

He got to first period five minutes early, and his teacher was more than surprised. She commented on his punctuality, complimenting Casey for influencing him.

Clearly, she hadn't heard of Amy's demise.

He didn't see Casey in the room and wondered where she'd gone, feeling antsy, ready to call off the whole day until one by one, students entered the classroom, whispering to one another, eyeing him in what they thought was a subtle way.

Meanwhile a short distance from the classroom, Alan stared at Casey and said, "If you want him out of here," he told her, "before he goes into that system and doesn't get out, you're going to have to get involved. I don't care what he said. Create a distraction."

"Like _what?" _she asked, borderline hysterical now, calling his name when he whipped past her to escape Emily's detection.

When the teacher slammed her book against the desk to get her students' attention after the bell rang, Derek was all nerves, wondering when she'd come in and where she'd gone and hoping to God she'd just gone to the bathroom to cry or something.

Then the principal arrived, calling for him personally, the form of two officers standing beside him, and he caught Casey's eyes, as she watched him from her locker, Emily beside her.

She looked like he wanted to cry and he shifted her gaze away from her, a firm look on his face. _Don't you dare do something stupid, Case, _he thought.

And then she saw it. The fire alarm.

o-o-o

"So," began one of the officers, dark-skinned and dark-haired, watching him with her silver hawk eyes, "I'm sure you know by now why you're here."

Her badge glittered at him menacingly. The man by her side was big-boned, with a full face and dark eyes. His face was riddled with rosacea and acne scars.

Derek kept silent. Even he knew better.

"We just want to know if you know anything," the male officer began, clearly trying to befriend him.

"Did she say anything about running away, or maybe going to meet someone else?"

"No." he said, feeling intimidated.

"Did _you _take her somewhere?" she asked bluntly.

"I didn't take her anywhere, we stayed at her place. I got home at 11, on time."

The woman stared at him in a way that, Derek swore, was sarcastic.

And just then, the fire alarm went off.

He was saved.

He bolted out the door, away from the roving gaze of the officers, camouflaging himself with the rest of his peers. It was raining.

After getting out of the building, Casey found him, soaking wet and gasping.

"Let's get out of here." She said, taking his hand and pulling him toward the car.

He looked at her, stunned. In the car, he was still staring at her.

"You pulled the alarm. Why?" He asked in a daze.

"Well," Alan piped up in the back, startling him, "I helped."

His eyes flickered up to the rearview mirror, where Alan's eyes met his.

"Start the car already, we're going to your place." He commanded, content to ignore the events that occurred earlier that morning between them.

They had bigger problems, anyway.


	8. Chapter 8

"Pull into the garage," Alan said, when they finally arrived, interrupting the silence between them all as they made their retreat, "We'll have to lock that door and keep the lights off, so it doesn't look like anyone's home. Hopefully you don't have nosy neighbors."

Derek found himself thinking the kid was a little too prepared, but the doubts he had about Alan's intentions had eased up. He might have had his reasons to be the way he was, he supposed, and he hadn't let him down yet. Right?

He winced as the car door banged against something, stepping out to do as Alan directed, moving around the front end of the car, and found Casey in his path.

She looked at him, frozen for a moment. Then she caught herself and tried to get out of his way, mumbling an apology that was cut off as she tripped over a wayward ice skate that had tumbled out of his car at some point, nearly diving headfirst into the edge of the tool cabinet beside her.

She felt his arm around her abdomen, pulling her back, the heat of his touch somehow feeling more welcome than she remembered.

"Careful, Klutzilla," he murmured, pulling away quickly and attending to the door, all the while avoiding her gaze.

"You should stop leaving your hockey gear around," the girl tossed out in response, scowling.

_He was not thinking about the way she fit the crook of his arm too well, absolutely not._

They all made their way upstairs into his bedroom, where Alan took the desk chair and began pulling things out of his backpack.

Casey glanced at the bed, briefly considering bringing another chair into the room, but decided she didn't need to attract more attention to the awkwardness she felt.

She was just sitting on the bed next to her stepbrother because she wanted to help. _That wasn't weird,_ she decided, clasping her hands, _it was just like the couch, really, it wasn't weird,_ she kept telling herself.

It was probably nothing, she was just nervous about the whole Amy thing, and felt out of place within the odd rapport Derek and Alan seemed to have, the silent glances, Alan's bemused looks always seeming to accompany Derek's scowls.

Alan held a silver hard drive in his hand, electrical tape in the other, disappearing beneath Derek's desk. The two teens watching him exchanged quizzical glances.

"Out of sight, out of mind," he said, as though it explained everything. He regarded their confusion with a sigh before clarifying, "You don't want anyone finding this because I have it rigged to collect what I need, all right?"

_And if anything happens to me, well, it'll find its way to the police, _he thought, but chose not to mention it. Derek's trust in him was weak at best; knowing he was basically copying over files and making a hard drive image every few hours through a few different backups wasn't something he was sure he wanted to admit.

Just in case.

"Gimme your phone," he said to Derek, who handed it over and watched him enter in the PIN without asking for it.

"How do you know that?" he asked, alarmed, and Alan regarded him with a derisive look, choosing not to mention that Casey's birthday—something he knew from her social media accounts, linked to his by association—was his first guess.

Alan shrugged and lied, choosing not to reveal what it was while she was in the room, "I saw you enter it in once, you have slow fingers."

Looking back down again, Alan's fingers flicked against the screen, doing something neither teen on the bed, even leaning forward as far as they could, supposedly oblivious to the contact of their arms, couldn't quite see.

"I've set this up to sync some stuff over through your email account, and that should sync to an offline file I've specified already. I might not be able to get the content of the calls, but I can get other things."

He said all this so nonchalantly, as he maneuvered the mouse, began typing at a speed that seemed inhuman, moved to the mouse again, all so effortlessly. Like it wasn't creepy at all that information was so easily accessible. He often forgot how different his…particular skill set was from other people his age.

"Can anyone do that?" Casey breathed, looking pale, "Just…get information like that?"

"It's easier now than it used to be," Alan said honestly, ignoring the pointed look from Derek that told him to shut up while he was ahead, "But there's ways to make it more difficult."

She started thinking about her mother and George, and Lizzie and Ed, all who had their own personal computers, wondering how safe they were.

Wondering how safe her own was.

"How much do you know about what…how this person's doing this?" she asked finally, not even really sure what she was asking.

Derek looked at her and understood.

Her point was valid. Sharing the same network…well, he didn't think Casey or the rest of her family would have been affected when it all seemed like a prank, just to bug Derek, but with a girl missing…

"You want me to look around on your computer?" Alan asked, "See if there's anything?"

She nodded tightly, and he stood, waiting for her to lead the way.

He spied the Swan Lake poster on her door as she pushed it open, not unsurprised to see how neat her room was.

Sitting at her computer, the chair bumping into the corner as he shifted around, he glanced over at her standing near her vanity, watching her pretend to be interested in the order of the books on the shelf beside it. Derek appeared in the doorway and he gave him a look that clearly said _do something. _

"Hey, Case, I'm sort of hungry," his eyes flickered over to Alan's, "You?"

"A bit," he lied.

He watched as the boy moved to wrap on arm around her shoulder with the smile he'd grown to associate with Venuri charm (his father had it too, he noted, in the family pictures).

"Make us pancakes?"

Alan nodded along, like it was the only thing that sounded good.

She gave him a glare that seemed more playful than venomous. "Fine, but it's for Alan, not you, don't go thinking I'll make them at your beck and call," and disappeared, the sound of her footsteps growing faint.

Derek let out a sigh, slumping on her bed. "This is why I didn't want her to get involved. She freaks out and—"

The boy let out a scoff, "Oh, come on."

At his bewilderment Alan rolled his eyes and continued, "She's stronger than you think. Smarter, too. She made the connection between your computer and everyone else's, didn't she? I was going to ask but, face it, you would have thrown a fit about _protecting _her."

That cued Derek's eye roll, something he figured he used as a replacement for a witty retort.

"If she asks me a question, I'm damn well going to answer it. Her knowing nothing would cause her to take risks she doesn't know exist," Alan muttered, marveling at the stubbornness he displayed, "It isn't about protecting Casey. It's about protecting _you _and that ridiculous farce you call being her brother_._"

"Step," Derek corrected automatically, and scowled at the pleased look he received in response, "What would you know, anyway," he muttered, "You act like everyone is so far off your radar, like it's better that all you do is hang out with a bunch of screens all day. Your idea of social interaction is so weirdly straightforward and deadpan that I swear I think you _are _a computer sometimes. You couldn't possibly understand what it's like to…"

He trailed off, swallowing the rest of his words.

"Care about someone I shouldn't?" the boy at the computer finished, "Hm. Go figure," and then backtracked, "Besides, you're right, I don't _do _beating-around-the-bush, I don't _do _bonding, I don't stick around because I don't want to. I do think most people don't give a shit about me, because I don't care about them, nor do I really understand most of them or their incessant need to take bathroom selfies and small talk. I make friends my own way,"

Derek wonders where these friends are but doesn't ask, watching him as he continues, "So that really just brings us back to the main point."

"Which is?"

"You and Casey are so damned obvious, even _I _can pick up on it."

Derek gapes like a fish and Alan just grins, returning his focus back to the computer again.

o-o-o

The smell of pancakes makes Derek rise to his feet and say to Alan, "I'm going to go check on the pancakes," and there wasn't a response to that. He glanced over, seeing Alan's intense stare on the screen, fixated on something, but didn't appear to be concerned, just in that weird work-mode that vaguely reminded him of Casey.

Heading down the stairs, he saw her at the stove, a neat pile of pancakes on the counter beside the pan, smelling the scent of chocolate and blueberries and peanut butter.

"Jeez, Case," he said, looking at her work, "I ought to have Alan over more if—are those vanilla-blueberry?"

"I'm blaming you if Mom and George complain about the missing creamer," Casey responded with a shrug, a small grin working across her face.

"You are a pancake genius," he said, grabbing one of them and stuffing it in his mouth, ignoring the faint look of disgust on her face, "and I'm hungry," he managed around the food.

"It would be much more polite if you would just wait for others before taking it all for yourself," she sighed, watching him take another two off the plate.

"Dive in, Case, I'm not stopping you. Besides, Alan's in his weird working-magic-mode," he said, waving his hands in a sarcastic display of a magic trick, "I don't think even your pancakes could snap him out of it."

Casey stared at the pile and shrugged, "I'm not that hungry. Did he say anything?"

Derek shrugged. "Not really," he lied.

She stared at him for a moment, as though she was considering saying something, and he wondered if he had suddenly forgotten how to lie, if it was somehow written across his face.

"What?" he asked abruptly, and Casey told him he needed etiquette classes before moving toward the oven to turn it off. She breezed past him, mumbling something about asking Alan if he wanted something to eat before he inhaled it all.

"Har-har," Derek responded sarcastically, watching her ascend up the stairs.

_He does not think her legs look good in those jeans._

Alan glanced up at the girl who knocked quietly against the doorframe, smiling hesitantly, as though she was unsure if she was interrupting, "I was just wondering if you wanted something to eat, before the human machine down there eats it all,"

The blonde shrugged, his eyes piercing hers, "No, I'm good, I just agreed so you wouldn't start pacing in panic."

"Oh," responded the girl, taken aback slightly, "Sorry."

He looked at her like she'd asked him a riddle, confounded by the response. "Nothing to be sorry about."

A pause followed, and then he said, "Casey, why is there a one-gigabyte file of dog pictures on your computer that was transferred from Derek's?"

She rolled her eyes. "It was…a project, Derek and I had. Well, more of a situation he roped me into like he does with everything else and…anyway, we had to pretend we had a dog and he collected the cute pictures for me because Derek's…nice, sometimes."

"Did you share this file with anyone else? Any of the pictures?"

It was Casey's turn to look puzzled and she crossed her arms, shaking her head. "No. Why?"

He frowned, looking at the folder on the screen again, mentally adding up the sizes, realizing that the thirty-odd pictures of fluffy puppies and lazy dogs did not, to the closest extent, add up to one gigabyte.

It was kind of genius, really, he thought, hiding something there. She wasn't going to get rid of it because Derek had informed him on more than one occasion that she was sentimental to a "sappy" point, and she didn't access the file regularly. A rootkit could be hidden anywhere, but the location of this one was about making a point.

He found himself feeling remarkably irritated for not considering Casey's computer _as _the way to get to Derek, rather than the other way around. She left everything so neatly detailed from their daily routine to her annual check-up that it simply made sense.

She had emails archived spanning over at least two years, many that mentioned Derek and her latest war with him, and more.

This game hadn't started with phone calls, Alan realized. This had started before they even knew there was one.

_o-o-o_

_This story has now changed more and probably will continue to do so from here on out compared to the original. I think it's for the better so I'm happy with it._

_Thanks for reading this far, and review please!_

_R._


	9. Chapter 9

After Casey saw Alan's face, and prying for a good minute and a half, he cut her off to ask, "How often do you use the calendar on here, Casey?"

She looked puzzled, and answered, "All the time."

He scanned the most recent emails: one to her father, dated a week ago, that was about her disappointment with not getting to see him for the holiday break.

An idea coming to him, he switched to the contacts pane, and found contact information for Amy. It only listed her first and last name, email, and phone number but it was enough.

Casey continued asking him questions but he ignored them, continuing with his trail of thought, opening her internet browser. One of the tabs automatically loaded to her Facebook account, and he clicked on it, finding a chat window open. Emily Davis was the contact. Scrolling up, skimming past the bits of information he didn't care about, he found the confirmation he needed.

_Emily Davis: I heard Derek was going out with Amy tonight_

_Casey McDonald: He just left, and don't you mean staying IN?_

_Casey McDonald: Maybe I should call her parents and tell them they need to go home early, can you imagine the LOOK on his face if they walked in?_

_Emily Davis: Ooh, that's evil. he'd have to come home early…and probably prank you again_

_Casey McDonald: Yeah, Derek home early, NO THANKS! I doubt he'll even make curfew…but I have homework to do, I'll talk to you tomorrow_

_Emily Davis: See you tomorrow!_

Alan leaned back and sighed, exiting out of the browser before resting back completely. He couldn't tell Casey his suspicions. Watching her in the doorway, looking more afraid than he'd ever seen her, he knew she wouldn't take the news well.

But if they wanted to catch the guy, Casey was the only way they could do it.

Derek appeared behind Casey, pushing past her with his shoulder, watching him warily and crossing his arms.

Well, no going back now.

"You started getting the calls and texts only a few days ago," Alan began, "But he's been monitoring you for longer than that."

He kept his eyes fixed on the screen, trying to figure out what to say and what to leave out, but Derek's impatience was evident, his sharp prompting keeping him from staying quiet for long.

"I _said,_" Derek began in irritation, "how long?"

"Two years. Maybe more, I can't tell. He knows where you were last Monday, he knows where you were two days ago, and Amy wasn't an exception," murmured the blonde softly, "I don't know if he got her to meet him somewhere, or what, but he knew how to contact her."

"How?" Casey asked, walking closer to the desk, and to his side, where she saw the calendar open.

He didn't have to answer, because she figured it out, the realization written all over her face.

"It isn't your fault, Casey," he tried to say, "You didn't know, and everyone does stuff like this on their computers—"

She was ignoring him, and he stopped trying to make her feel better, glancing over at the boy who had found himself sitting on her bed, knuckles white from clenching his fists, a darkness in his eyes.

"This is all my fault," the girl found herself saying, her chest tightening, nausea rising, "It's all my fault, if I hadn't—"

Seeing that Derek was still lost in processing the information, Alan grabbed her wrist and took her to the bathroom, and held her hair as she dry-heaved.

He had never really known Casey, but she was the only person to treat him with kindness without expecting anything. It was the least he could do.

Derek followed them a moment later, watching them, no, watching _him, _and managed out roughly, "She okay?"

_Doesn't care about her my ass, _Alan thought, with a twinge of envy. "She'll be fine." Right as he said that, Casey's breakfast of oatmeal shoved its way up her throat. He turned his attention back to her and rubbed her back.

Looking grey, Casey rose to her feet and stood at the sink, rinsing her mouth out.

He heard Derek descending down the stairs.

And then she just looked at him, the bloodshot blue eyes digging into Alan's own.

She was about to say something; her mouth about to open, but the brunette had returned and interrupted them before she could get a word out.

His face was still blank, eyes still smoldering, flicking to Alan's stare, and he understood.

_Derek wanted to kill him. _

Casey took the can of soda he had retrieved for her and looked at his face, looking as though she was on the brink of tears and holding it in only because he wouldn't tolerate it.

She wanted to tell him she was sorry, she didn't mean to do it, to not be mad at her because he obviously was, but she dared to not say a word.

"Thanks." She mumbled softly instead, swallowing hard, shifting her gaze to the hallway and maneuvering past him.

Derek waited for her to leave and then asked, "You've got a plan?"

"I have an idea. But before we can even start on that, we've got to deal with what's going on right now. How many other computers are there here?"

Derek sighed. "Lizzie and Ed share one, it's old and clunky and they're supposed to be getting new ones for Christmas. My dad has one. Nora has a laptop, somewhere, I think."

"Ask Casey where it is. Your dad has one for work too, doesn't he?"

Derek shrugged. "He did. It got stolen a few months ago, he's been trying to get the insurance to cover it so he does most of his work at the office." After a moment passed, he continued, "Fuck, he stole it, didn't he?"

The blonde didn't respond, just repeated, "Go ask Casey to find the laptop."

In a few minutes, the three teens gathered around George's computer as Alan looked around at the files. Nothing that he could see appeared to be of any use to him, so he fished out a flash drive, and looked up at the two teens. "In advance, I'm sorry if there's anything on those computers you can't get back."

"Wait, what do you mean—" Casey began, but stopped when he plugged it in, located and ran the file he needed, and waited for it to load onto the computer.

Running the file didn't seem to do anything dramatic, which confused her, until Alan, satisfied that there was nothing on Nora's laptop he could use, repeated the motions.

"What's it doing?" Derek asked finally, thoroughly unimpressed by the display, "It looks like you didn't do it right."

The boy shot him an irritated look. "It's not going to run until they turn it on again, which, they'll have to do tonight, since both systems are shut down. When it does…"

Derek motioned with his hand for him to continue.

Alan sighed. "It's a little ridiculous on a smaller scale, it's meant for larger corporations, but essentially, it's a wipeout."

"But you can fix it, right?" Casey asked hesitantly, recalling that the laptop had been a gift.

"Sort of," he said, "I mean, that data's unrecoverable, but the computer's not a lost cause. But you can't let them get it fixed until we're done with this, you have to remember that."

"And how exactly are we supposed to prevent them from taking it in somewhere?"

He shrugged. "Improvise. Just like how you're going to get me into your father's office without him knowing."

Casey and Derek glanced at each other with twin expressions of uncertainty.

"One more computer left, then we'll talk about what we're going to do," Alan reminded them, following them upstairs.

o-o-o

The plan wasn't foolproof, they all knew that. There were plenty of things that could stop them and working around those potential barriers wasn't possible.

But they did have a plan.

Alan was going to get into George's files and see if any of his cases dealt with clients a few fries short of a happy meal.

That part was hard enough to get them to agree to, but the next portion was even more difficult.

"We're going on a date," Alan informed Casey, who choked on her ginger ale.

Derek sputtered for few moments and then said, "Absolutely not. That's stupid. Why would this creep believe you were on a date? It's practically public knowledge that you swing for the other team."

Fake date or not, the kid took the whole, no-dating-Casey thing too seriously. "Because if he saw us together, it would look suspicious, and the last thing I need is for him to think I continued helping you," he explained with a sigh, "Plus, it's more plausible that she wouldn't know, because she's not popular like you are, and…" he trailed off, sensing Casey's affront.

"And?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"Well, let me put it this way. How many times have you seen that movie where the girl dates the guy only to find out it's a wacky misunderstanding that he's gay?"

Despite his disapproval of the idea, Derek laughed, "Oh, Casey, I can totally see this happening with one of your drama geeks."

"It's our only chance," Alan pointed out, "He doesn't know you like we do, so…"

She bristled again but relented nonetheless, ignoring Derek's amused grin. "Fine. What else?"

"Holiday break is coming up."

Derek shrugged. "In like, three weeks. That's forever."

Alan had saved the worse for last, and he wasn't sure why, because there was nothing worse than being stuck at home for break when everyone else had plans. Especially when the latter included the rest of your immediate family and a spontaneous change in vacation plans—to California.

He wasn't positive how he was going to manage _that_, but he had a few different ideas. If worst came to worse, he'd pay for it himself, and no one needed to know, provided he could get Derek and Casey—well, mostly Derek—to agree with him.

Oddly, however, there had been no protest.

Casey just nodded thoughtfully and said, "If you're right and he does want to go after us then, I suppose it's best to give him a false lead. We kind of owe them after the computer business, too."

Derek just made him verify more than once that "the creep" couldn't catch up to them once they made the travel changes, and upon repetitive confirmation, seemed…relieved.

For once, it seemed like they were the ones a step ahead. Watching Casey begin to write down a reiteration of their plans and ideas on a notepad, Derek hoped the lucky break they were planning on worked out the way he knew she was writing it.

o-o-o

Meanwhile, Amy found herself wondering who the stranger was in front of her. She couldn't remember why she had left her house or when it had been, a few fuzzy memories of an email alluded to a decision she felt she had made a lifetime ago already.

Her arms hurt as she hung from the ceiling, no longer supported by the medical examining table she had been restrained to. She felt her bones strain with every movement as she swung to and fro, tears running down her cheeks.

Narrowly missing the hissing fire that tried to catch her skin.

It was just starting, but soon it would begin to roar.

Her skin was flushed, raw, and she tried to cough, because the smoke was just too much; but the raging pain came back and she cried as her body forced her to breathe. The stitches on her throat and collarbone popped; she felt the wound open.

She couldn't scream. She couldn't beg for him, or her, or whoever the fuck it was that was torturing her, to stop.

Her vocal cords had been removed.

It was some of his best work, he thought, personally—until she had ruined it, the stitching had been slow and perfect in placement. If she'd lived, there wouldn't have been a scar.

Why he bothered to stitch up her wounds in the first place had a few different answers. He still had some time to kill before police got wind of the kidnapping, and he wanted to feel a _bit _of a thrill, see the frantic cars and newscasters telling the same story eight different ways, just because.

He wanted Venturi to catch some heat, though he was sad he couldn't witness it firsthand.

The final answer was: hope.

He wanted to give the girl hope. As he loosened her binds slightly and stitched her up, put on her jacket, like she was a doll. As he washed his instruments and put things away, as though he was nearing the end of the work day. She watched, her fast, scared breaths slowed, and then the moment that flicker of hope appeared in her eyes.

The rush he felt when he could so easily destroy it by pulling her into a different room had been worth the wordless coaxing. He tied her up from her wrists, and as she began to cry again, struck a match.

Cut to now.

His lips curled into a smirk as the light from her eyes extinguished; the camera was on a tripod, catching it all. He was simply watching, because he could.

In the background were snippets of things he was sure would throw the police off their trail entirely. A few posters of metal bands. Half of a fake Battle of the Bands event poster from an obscure and nonexistent high school, generically named to prolong the investigation. In the video, he included a long shot of a shelf with books on serial killers and 'how-to' volumes on hunting.

If anything got the police up and running, it was clichés.

He had briefly considered changing his plan and letting Venturi take the fall for Amy's death, but decided against it. Derek Venturi was his, and so was everyone else he kept huddled close.

He didn't need the police fucking that up.

So he prepared the video, some fake metadata in order to allude to a potential author, and all the necessary security measures.

Then he pressed send, and leaned back with a smile.


	10. Chapter 10

Over the course of four hours, Derek, Alan, and Casey had gone through an entire legal pad borrowed (to never be returned) from George's desk.

"We still don't have much to go on," Derek muttered.

"When do we _ever_?" Alan commented, sighing at his defeated tone.

The brunette glanced up at the two boys, her expression hesitant. "I don't know a lot about computers, Alan, but I know we're a lot closer than we were before. If nothing else, we can protect our family. That has to count for something."

Alan watched Derek's eyes watch her intently, the slight twitch in his neck as he heard the word _our_. He saw the tension bloom from his neck to his shoulders and arms, the way he seemed almost frozen in place.

What Alan didn't know was that he was devoting every bit of energy he had to keeping his mouth shut for once—but the desire to automatically correct her and cover up with a snarky comment was hard to shut down.

The blonde forced a smile on his face and said, "Yeah, maybe you're right, Casey. Derek and I will go down for some snacks, I think we need a break. Would you like anything?"

Grateful for the exit, Derek was out the door and down the stairs before he heard her answer. When Alan joined him a few minutes later, watching him pull out the ingredients for a rather sizeable sandwich, he smiled smugly and said, "You're welcome."

"No clue what you're talking about, geek." Derek maintained, eyes fixed on the edible creation before him.

"I don't know much about girls, or people, really, but I'm not blind. You like her, she likes you, it's obvious."

Derek snorted derisively. "You have more of a chance with her than me—_if _I even wanted her, which I don't. Casey's smart, she'll eventually land some guy that sees her…for who she is. Someone that won't make her change. And me? Well, high school's all I've got going for me."

"What?" asked the blonde, who was grabbing a soda from the fridge, though Derek couldn't tell if he was surprised or simply not following.

"It's just…you're smart, you know, going to MIT and stuff and…and I'm not going to do as well anywhere else as I do in high school."

It was true, he was sure of it. High school was a Derek-climate, but university? University was a Casey-climate—a place he'd drown.

"So you're just not going to apply? Give up?" Alan muttered, spinning the can on the counter, his eyes meeting the hazel stare on his face.

Derek shrugged, slapping on the last piece of bread on top of a mountain of condiments, cheese, cold cuts, and possibly a slice of tomato.

"That's the most asinine thing I've heard," was the other boy's response, "I'm not saving your ass just so you can rot here forever."

Before the brunette could provide a counterpoint, he disappeared past the kitchen threshold.

Alan tossed the can of soda to Casey, who flailed and ended up with the can falling beside her.

Derek followed moments later. "Dad and Nora'll be home soon," he said, the façade of devil-may-care etched into his features, "so you might wanna scram for now." He motioned to the door behind him, making a clicking sound with his tongue.

Casey rolled her eyes offered to drive him home, but he declined, stating it was better for him to take the bus back home. Then she offered to wait with him, but Derek vetoed that idea immediately.

In the end, all three of them found themselves waiting for the next bus, an awkward silence snaking between them.

Alan reminded himself that they weren't his friends. They couldn't be—they would go their separate ways after this and lose touch because that was the way things were.

He made a mental note to reveal to Casey what Derek had told him, however. Venturi never seemed to be able to say no to her.

The bus arrived and Alan muttered a quick farewell, dodging Casey's attempt at a hug, but acknowledged her thanks with a slight nod. He pulled himself onto the steps with his arms, a curious boarding maneuver, and then he was whisked away down the street.

"Well," Casey began, as Derek started back toward the house, "That was odd."

A sigh. "That's Alan for you. Seriously, the guy makes it hard to _not _kick his ass."

"He likes you, you know." Casey said, a hint of mischief in her voice.

"He does not!" Derek protested, "How many times has he alluded to my being an idiot, or my hockey status, or how no one can ever know we've spoken?"

_All things Casey does, _a voice sounding suspiciously like Alan reminded him.

Casey giggled. "A boy doesn't act like that unless he's smitten—and Derek, trust me, I _know _smitten."

Derek scowled. "Well, _he _thinks _you _like me! So therefore, he is _not _smitten!"

Derek chose to omit that Alan had only implied Casey liked him. In either case, it made her go off on a tangent about how wrong that was, and he ended her final thought—_you're an annoying asshole and _so _not my type_—by locking the door behind him.

"My point exactly," Casey yelled, too far away to stop the door from closing in her face, then growled, digging into her pocket for a key.

o-o-o

No longer than half an hour later, George and Nora burst through the door and called for them.

Derek met Casey in the hall, hesitance on her face.

Then Nora said, spying his form at the steps, "Derek! We heard about Amy! Why didn't you _call—"_

"They heard," Derek said flatly, then turned to Casey, whispering, "Not a word, Case. _Not a word._"

"You know, I'm really tired so I'm just going to bed. Okay? Great." He turned around the corner, slipped past Casey, and retreated to the notes hidden under his pillow.

Bewildered and concerned as they were, they didn't disturb him that night—nor did Lizzie, Marti, or Edwin. Derek knew it promised a shit storm for the next time they saw him, but that wouldn't hold a candle to Casey's reaction for leaving her to deal with it, or so he thought.

o-o-o

At midnight, his elbow ached from having to hold that miniature flashlight for so long. He'd gone through the pages and pages of notes, and at this hour they were just words, anyway. He didn't know enough to have an upper hand, and he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to go any deeper with this whole thing.

Just as he was about to give up, Casey opened his door silently, carrying two large mugs of coffee.

She gave him a little smile—a real one, not forced—and said, "I kind of figured you need some reinforcements. What do you think?"

He simply grunted and accepted the coffee gratefully. He wondered if she had laced it with laxatives or something, to get back at him for the pussy move he had pulled earlier, but it didn't appear so.

She took the pad from his lap and skimmed the first page.

"So, we should split up the work," Casey said, "I'll do the research and fact checking, you deal with George and Nora and the cops tomorrow, Alan can start drafting up plans for the legal office."

Derek set the mug on his bedside table and groaned. "Cops? Parents? Case, you weren't supposed to say anything!"

"I didn't! They just need your statement on the last time you saw her and that's it. George was sure of it."

Derek frowned, and made his way over to his computer, intending to check the news coverage. Something didn't add up.

But an email alert caught his attention instead, from a sender and client he didn't recognize.

From: _Grty67sd34 _ 12:15 am

To: _Derek V_

Subject: _You're welcome, Venturi._

POLICE RECEIVE VIDEO EVIDENCE OF MISSING GIRL

It was just a headline. When he searched for the article, he found nothing.

Then he received another email, different user, same email client.

In the body was an image of Casey and Derek watching Alan at the bus stop.

The subject line?

_I am always watching. _

o-o-o-o

So sorry for the late updates on all my WIPs! I will try to update more once my internship is over this month!

As always, thanks for reading, and reviews are always appreciated.

-Remi


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